They were all at Charing Cross to see Lilia off--Philip,
Harriet, Irma, Mrs. Herriton herself. Even Mrs. Theobald,
squired by Mr. Kingcroft, had braved the journey from
Yorkshire to bid her only daughter good-bye. Miss Abbott
was likewise attended by numerous relatives, and the sight
of so many people talking at once and saying such different
things caused Lilia to break into ungovernable peals of laughter.

"Quite an ovation," she cried, sprawling out of her
first-class carriage. "They'll take us for royalty. Oh,
Mr. Kingcroft, get us foot-warmers."

The good-natured young man hurried away, and Philip,
taking his place, flooded her with a final stream of advice
and injunctions--where to stop, how to learn Italian, when to
use mosquito-nets, what pictures to look at. "Remember," he
concluded, "that it is only by going off the track that you
get to know the country. See the little towns--Gubbio,
Pienza, Cortona, San Gemignano, Monteriano. And don't, let
me beg you, go with that awful tourist idea that Italy's
only a museum of antiquities and art. Love and understand
the Italians, for the people are more marvellous than the land."

"How I wish you were coming, Philip," she said,
flattered at the unwonted notice her brother-in-law was
giving her.

"I wish I were." He could have managed it without great
difficulty, for his career at the Bar was not so intense as
to prevent occasional holidays. But his family disliked his
continual visits to the Continent, and he himself often
found pleasure in the idea that he was too busy to leave town.

"Good-bye, dear every one. What a whirl!" She caught
sight of her little daughter Irma, and felt that a touch of
maternal solemnity was required. "Good-bye, darling. Mind
you're always good, and do what Granny tells you."

She referred not to her own mother, but to her
mother-in-law, Mrs. Herriton, who hated the title of Granny.

Irma lifted a serious face to be kissed, and said
cautiously, "I'll do my best."

"She is sure to be good," said Mrs. Herriton, who was
standing pensively a little out of the hubbub. But Lilia
was already calling to Miss Abbott, a tall, grave, rather
nice-looking young lady who was conducting her adieus in a
more decorous manner on the platform.

"Caroline, my Caroline! Jump in, or your chaperon will
go off without you."

And Philip, whom the idea of Italy always intoxicated,
had started again, telling her of the supreme moments of her
coming journey--the Campanile of Airolo, which would burst on
her when she emerged from the St. Gothard tunnel, presaging
the future; the view of the Ticino and Lago Maggiore as the
train climbed the slopes of Monte Cenere; the view of
Lugano, the view of Como--Italy gathering thick around her
now--the arrival at her first resting-place, when, after long
driving through dark and dirty streets, she should at last
behold, amid the roar of trams and the glare of arc lamps,
the buttresses of the cathedral of Milan.

"Good old Harry!" She kissed every one again, and there
was a moment's silence. They all smiled steadily, excepting
Philip, who was choking in the fog, and old Mrs. Theobald,
who had begun to cry. Miss Abbott got into the carriage.
The guard himself shut the door, and told Lilia that she
would be all right. Then the train moved, and they all
moved with it a couple of steps, and waved their
handkerchiefs, and uttered cheerful little cries. At that
moment Mr. Kingcroft reappeared, carrying a footwarmer by
both ends, as if it was a tea-tray. He was sorry that he
was too late, and called out in a quivering voice,
"Good-bye, Mrs. Charles. May you enjoy yourself, and may
God bless you."

Lilia smiled and nodded, and then the absurd position of
the foot-warmer overcame her, and she began to laugh again.

"Oh, I am so sorry," she cried back, "but you do look so
funny. Oh, you all look so funny waving! Oh, pray!" And
laughing helplessly, she was carried out into the fog.

"High spirits to begin so long a journey," said Mrs.
Theobald, dabbing her eyes.

Mr. Kingcroft solemnly moved his head in token of
agreement. "I wish," said he, "that Mrs. Charles had gotten
the footwarmer. These London porters won't take heed to a
country chap."

"But you did your best," said Mrs. Herriton. "And I
think it simply noble of you to have brought Mrs. Theobald
all the way here on such a day as this." Then, rather
hastily, she shook hands, and left him to take Mrs. Theobald
all the way back.

Sawston, her own home, was within easy reach of London,
and they were not late for tea. Tea was in the dining-room,
with an egg for Irma, to keep up the child's spirits. The
house seemed strangely quiet after a fortnight's bustle, and
their conversation was spasmodic and subdued. They wondered
whether the travellers had got to Folkestone, whether it
would be at all rough, and if so what would happen to poor
Miss Abbott.

"'Grandmother,' dear; not 'Granny,'" said Mrs. Herriton,
giving her a kiss. "And we say 'a boat' or 'a steamer,' not
'a ship.' Ships have sails. And mother won't go all the way
by sea. You look at the map of Europe, and you'll see why.
Harriet, take her. Go with Aunt Harriet, and she'll show
you the map."

"Righto!" said the little girl, and dragged the
reluctant Harriet into the library. Mrs. Herriton and her
son were left alone. There was immediately confidence
between them.

"Poor child, how vulgar!" murmured Mrs. Herriton. "It's
surprising that she isn't worse. But she has got a look of
poor Charles about her."

"And--alas, alas!--a look of old Mrs. Theobald. What
appalling apparition was that! I did think the lady was
bedridden as well as imbecile. Why ever did she come?"

"Mr. Kingcroft made her. I am certain of it. He wanted
to see Lilia again, and this was the only way."

"I hope he is satisfied. I did not think my
sister-in-law distinguished herself in her farewells."

Mrs. Herriton shuddered. "I mind nothing, so long as
she has gone--and gone with Miss Abbott. It is mortifying to
think that a widow of thirty-three requires a girl ten years
younger to look after her."

"I pity Miss Abbott. Fortunately one admirer is chained
to England. Mr. Kingcroft cannot leave the crops or the
climate or something. I don't think, either, he improved
his chances today. He, as well as Lilia, has the knack of
being absurd in public."

Mrs. Herriton replied, "When a man is neither well bred,
nor well connected, nor handsome, nor clever, nor rich, even
Lilia may discard him in time."

"No. I believe she would take any one. Right up to the
last, when her boxes were packed, she was 'playing' the
chinless curate. Both the curates are chinless, but hers
had the dampest hands. I came on them in the Park. They
were speaking of the Pentateuch."

"My dear boy! If possible, she has got worse and
worse. It was your idea of Italian travel that saved us!"

Philip brightened at the little compliment. "The odd
part is that she was quite eager--always asking me for
information; and of course I was very glad to give it. I
admit she is a Philistine, appallingly ignorant, and her
taste in art is false. Still, to have any taste at all is
something. And I do believe that Italy really purifies and
ennobles all who visit her. She is the school as well as
the playground of the world. It is really to Lilia's credit
that she wants to go there."

"She would go anywhere," said his mother, who had heard
enough of the praises of Italy. "I and Caroline Abbott had
the greatest difficulty in dissuading her from the Riviera."

"No, Mother; no. She was really keen on Italy. This
travel is quite a crisis for her." He found the situation
full of whimsical romance: there was something half
attractive, half repellent in the thought of this vulgar
woman journeying to places he loved and revered. Why should
she not be transfigured? The same had happened to the Goths.

Mrs. Herriton did not believe in romance nor in
transfiguration, nor in parallels from history, nor in
anything else that may disturb domestic life. She adroitly
changed the subject before Philip got excited. Soon Harriet
returned, having given her lesson in geography. Irma went
to bed early, and was tucked up by her grandmother. Then
the two ladies worked and played cards. Philip read a
book. And so they all settled down to their quiet,
profitable existence, and continued it without interruption
through the winter.

It was now nearly ten years since Charles had fallen in
love with Lilia Theobald because she was pretty, and during
that time Mrs. Herriton had hardly known a moment's rest.
For six months she schemed to prevent the match, and when it
had taken place she turned to another task--the supervision
of her daughter-in-law. Lilia must be pushed through life
without bringing discredit on the family into which she had
married. She was aided by Charles, by her daughter Harriet,
and, as soon as he was old enough, by the clever one of the
family, Philip. The birth of Irma made things still more
difficult. But fortunately old Mrs. Theobald, who had
attempted interference, began to break up. It was an effort
to her to leave Whitby, and Mrs. Herriton discouraged the
effort as far as possible. That curious duel which is
fought over every baby was fought and decided early. Irma
belonged to her father's family, not to her mother's.

Charles died, and the struggle recommenced. Lilia tried
to assert herself, and said that she should go to take care
of Mrs. Theobald. It required all Mrs. Herriton's kindness
to prevent her. A house was finally taken for her at
Sawston, and there for three years she lived with Irma,
continually subject to the refining influences of her late
husband's family.

During one of her rare Yorkshire visits trouble began
again. Lilia confided to a friend that she liked a Mr.
Kingcroft extremely, but that she was not exactly engaged to
him. The news came round to Mrs. Herriton, who at once
wrote, begging for information, and pointing out that Lilia
must either be engaged or not, since no intermediate state
existed. It was a good letter, and flurried Lilia
extremely. She left Mr. Kingcroft without even the pressure
of a rescue-party. She cried a great deal on her return to
Sawston, and said she was very sorry. Mrs. Herriton took
the opportunity of speaking more seriously about the duties
of widowhood and motherhood than she had ever done before.
But somehow things never went easily after. Lilia would not
settle down in her place among Sawston matrons. She was a
bad housekeeper, always in the throes of some domestic
crisis, which Mrs. Herriton, who kept her servants for
years, had to step across and adjust. She let Irma stop
away from school for insufficient reasons, and she allowed
her to wear rings. She learnt to bicycle, for the purpose
of waking the place up, and coasted down the High Street one
Sunday evening, falling off at the turn by the church. If
she had not been a relative, it would have been
entertaining. But even Philip, who in theory loved
outraging English conventions, rose to the occasion, and
gave her a talking which she remembered to her dying day.
It was just then, too, that they discovered that she still
allowed Mr. Kingcroft to write to her "as a gentleman
friend," and to send presents to Irma.

Philip thought of Italy, and the situation was saved.
Caroline, charming, sober, Caroline Abbott, who lived two
turnings away, was seeking a companion for a year's travel.
Lilia gave up her house, sold half her furniture, left the
other half and Irma with Mrs. Herriton, and had now
departed, amid universal approval, for a change of scene.

She wrote to them frequently during the winter--more
frequently than she wrote to her mother. Her letters were
always prosperous. Florence she found perfectly sweet,
Naples a dream, but very whiffy. In Rome one had simply to
sit still and feel. Philip, however, declared that she was
improving. He was particularly gratified when in the early
spring she began to visit the smaller towns that he had
recommended. "In a place like this," she wrote, "one really
does feel in the heart of things, and off the beaten track.
Looking out of a Gothic window every morning, it seems
impossible that the middle ages have passed away." The
letter was from Monteriano, and concluded with a not
unsuccessful description of the wonderful little town.

"It is something that she is contented," said Mrs.
Herriton. "But no one could live three months with Caroline
Abbott and not be the better for it."

Just then Irma came in from school, and she read her
mother's letter to her, carefully correcting any grammatical
errors, for she was a loyal supporter of parental
authority--Irma listened politely, but soon changed the
subject to hockey, in which her whole being was absorbed.
They were to vote for colours that afternoon--yellow and
white or yellow and green. What did her grandmother think?

Of course Mrs. Herriton had an opinion, which she
sedately expounded, in spite of Harriet, who said that
colours were unnecessary for children, and of Philip, who
said that they were ugly. She was getting proud of Irma,
who had certainly greatly improved, and could no longer be
called that most appalling of things--a vulgar child. She
was anxious to form her before her mother returned. So she
had no objection to the leisurely movements of the
travellers, and even suggested that they should overstay
their year if it suited them.

Lilia's next letter was also from Monteriano, and Philip
grew quite enthusiastic.

"They've stopped there over a week!" he cried. "Why! I
shouldn't have done as much myself. They must be really
keen, for the hotel's none too comfortable."

"I cannot understand people," said Harriet. "What can
they be doing all day? And there is no church there, I suppose."

"There is Santa Deodata, one of the most beautiful
churches in Italy."

"Of course I mean an English church," said Harriet
stiffly. "Lilia promised me that she would always be in a
large town on Sundays."

"If she goes to a service at Santa Deodata's, she will
find more beauty and sincerity than there is in all the Back
Kitchens of Europe.

The Back Kitchen was his nickname for St. James's, a
small depressing edifice much patronized by his sister. She
always resented any slight on it, and Mrs. Herriton had to
intervene.

"Now, dears, don't. Listen to Lilia's letter. 'We love
this place, and I do not know how I shall ever thank Philip
for telling me it. It is not only so quaint, but one sees
the Italians unspoiled in all their simplicity and charm
here. The frescoes are wonderful. Caroline, who grows
sweeter every day, is very busy sketching.' "

"Every one to his taste!" said Harriet, who always
delivered a platitude as if it was an epigram. She was
curiously virulent about Italy, which she had never visited,
her only experience of the Continent being an occasional six
weeks in the Protestant parts of Switzerland.

"Oh, Harriet is a bad lot!" said Philip as soon as she
left the room. His mother laughed, and told him not to be
naughty; and the appearance of Irma, just off to school,
prevented further discussion. Not only in Tracts is a child
a peacemaker.

"One moment, Irma," said her uncle. "I'm going to the
station. I'll give you the pleasure of my company."

They started together. Irma was gratified; but
conversation flagged, for Philip had not the art of talking
to the young. Mrs. Herriton sat a little longer at the
breakfast table, re-reading Lilia's letter. Then she helped
the cook to clear, ordered dinner, and started the housemaid
turning out the drawing-room, Tuesday being its day. The
weather was lovely, and she thought she would do a little
gardening, as it was quite early. She called Harriet, who
had recovered from the insult to St. James's, and together
they went to the kitchen garden and began to sow some early
vegetables.

"We will save the peas to the last; they are the
greatest fun," said Mrs. Herriton, who had the gift of
making work a treat. She and her elderly daughter always
got on very well, though they had not a great deal in
common. Harriet's education had been almost too
successful. As Philip once said, she had "bolted all the
cardinal virtues and couldn't digest them." Though pious
and patriotic, and a great moral asset for the house, she
lacked that pliancy and tact which her mother so much
valued, and had expected her to pick up for herself.
Harriet, if she had been allowed, would have driven Lilia to
an open rupture, and, what was worse, she would have done
the same to Philip two years before, when he returned full
of passion for Italy, and ridiculing Sawston and its ways.

"It's a shame, Mother!" she had cried. "Philip laughs
at everything--the Book Club, the Debating Society, the
Progressive Whist, the bazaars. People won't like it. We
have our reputation. A house divided against itself cannot stand."

Mrs. Herriton replied in the memorable words, "Let
Philip say what he likes, and he will let us do what we
like." And Harriet had acquiesced.

They sowed the duller vegetables first, and a pleasant
feeling of righteous fatigue stole over them as they
addressed themselves to the peas. Harriet stretched a
string to guide the row straight, and Mrs. Herriton
scratched a furrow with a pointed stick. At the end of it
she looked at her watch.

"It's twelve! The second post's in. Run and see if
there are any letters."

Harriet did not want to go. "Let's finish the peas.
There won't be any letters."

"No, dear; please go. I'll sow the peas, but you shall
cover them up--and mind the birds don't see 'em!"

Mrs. Herriton was very careful to let those peas trickle
evenly from her hand, and at the end of the row she was
conscious that she had never sown better. They were
expensive too.

"But it must be sillier than usual," said Harriet, and
her voice began to quaver. "Look here, read it, Mother; I
can't make head or tail."

Mrs. Herriton took the letter indulgently. "What is the
difficulty?" she said after a long pause. "What is it that
puzzles you in this letter?"

"The meaning--" faltered Harriet. The sparrows hopped
nearer and began to eye the peas.

"The meaning is quite clear--Lilia is engaged to be
married. Don't cry, dear; please me by not crying--don't
talk at all. It's more than I could bear. She is going to
marry some one she has met in a hotel. Take the letter and
read for yourself." Suddenly she broke down over what might
seem a small point. "How dare she not tell me direct! How
dare she write first to Yorkshire! Pray, am I to hear
through Mrs. Theobald--a patronizing, insolent letter like
this? Have I no claim at all? Bear witness, dear"--she
choked with passion--"bear witness that for this I'll never
forgive her!"

"This first!" She tore the letter into little pieces
and scattered it over the mould. "Next, a telegram for
Lilia! No! a telegram for Miss Caroline Abbott. She, too,
has something to explain."

"Oh, what is to be done?" repeated Harriet, as she
followed her mother to the house. She was helpless before
such effrontery. What awful thing--what awful person had
come to Lilia? "Some one in the hotel." The letter only
said that. What kind of person? A gentleman? An
Englishman? The letter did not say.

"Wire reason of stay at Monteriano. Strange rumours,"
read Mrs. Herriton, and addressed the telegram to Abbott,
Stella d'Italia, Monteriano, Italy. "If there is an office
there," she added, "we might get an answer this evening.
Since Philip is back at seven, and the eight-fifteen catches
the midnight boat at Dover--Harriet, when you go with this,
get 100 pounds in 5 pound notes at the bank."

Go, dear, at once; do not talk. I see Irma coming back;
go quickly.... Well, Irma dear, and whose team are you in
this afternoon--Miss Edith's or Miss May's?"

But as soon as she had behaved as usual to her
grand-daughter, she went to the library and took out the
large atlas, for she wanted to know about Monteriano. The
name was in the smallest print, in the midst of a
woolly-brown tangle of hills which were called the
"Sub-Apennines." It was not so very far from Siena, which
she had learnt at school. Past it there wandered a thin
black line, notched at intervals like a saw, and she knew
that this was a railway. But the map left a good deal to
imagination, and she had not got any. She looked up the
place in "Childe Harold," but Byron had not been there. Nor
did Mark Twain visit it in the "Tramp Abroad." The
resources of literature were exhausted: she must wait till
Philip came home. And the thought of Philip made her try
Philip's room, and there she found "Central Italy," by
Baedeker, and opened it for the first time in her life and
read in it as follows:--

History: Monteriano, the Mons Rianus of Antiquity,
whose Ghibelline tendencies are noted by Dante (Purg.
xx.), definitely emancipated itself from Poggibonsi in
'261. Hence the distich, "Poggibonizzi, faui in la, che
Monteriano si fa citta!" till recently enscribed over
the Siena gate. It remained independent till 1530, when
it was sacked by the Papal troops and became part of the
Grand Duchy of Tuscany. It is now of small importance,
and seat of the district prison. The inhabitants are
still noted for their agreeable manners.

- - - - -

The traveller will proceed direct from the Siena gate to
the Collegiate Church of Santa Deodata, and inspect (5th
chapel on right) the charming * Frescoes....

Mrs. Herriton did not proceed. She was not one to
detect the hidden charms of Baedeker. Some of the
information seemed to her unnecessary, all of it was dull.
Whereas Philip could never read "The view from the Rocca
(small gratuity) is finest at sunset" without a catching at
the heart. Restoring the book to its place, she went
downstairs, and looked up and down the asphalt paths for her
daughter. She saw her at last, two turnings away, vainly
trying to shake off Mr. Abbott, Miss Caroline Abbott's
father. Harriet was always unfortunate. At last she
returned, hot, agitated, crackling with bank-notes, and Irma
bounced to greet her, and trod heavily on her corn.

"Your feet grow larger every day," said the agonized
Harriet, and gave her niece a violent push. Then Irma
cried, and Mrs. Herriton was annoyed with Harriet for
betraying irritation. Lunch was nasty; and during pudding
news arrived that the cook, by sheer dexterity, had broken a
very vital knob off the kitchen-range. "It is too bad,"
said Mrs. Herriton. Irma said it was three bad, and was
told not to be rude. After lunch Harriet would get out
Baedeker, and read in injured tones about Monteriano, the
Mons Rianus of Antiquity, till her mother stopped her.

"It's ridiculous to read, dear. She's not trying to
marry any one in the place. Some tourist, obviously, who's
stopping in the hotel. The place has nothing to do with it
at all."

"But what a place to go to! What nice person, too, do
you meet in a hotel?"

"Nice or nasty, as I have told you several times before,
is not the point. Lilia has insulted our family, and she
shall suffer for it. And when you speak against hotels, I
think you forget that I met your father at Chamounix. You
can contribute nothing, dear, at present, and I think you
had better hold your tongue. I am going to the kitchen, to
speak about the range."

She spoke just too much, and the cook said that if she
could not give satisfaction--she had better leave. A small
thing at hand is greater than a great thing remote, and
Lilia, misconducting herself upon a mountain in Central
Italy, was immediately hidden. Mrs. Herriton flew to a
registry office, failed; flew to another, failed again; came
home, was told by the housemaid that things seemed so
unsettled that she had better leave as well; had tea, wrote
six letters, was interrupted by cook and housemaid, both
weeping, asking her pardon, and imploring to be taken back.
In the flush of victory the door-bell rang, and there was
the telegram: "Lilia engaged to Italian nobility. Writing.
Abbott."

"No answer," said Mrs. Herriton. "Get down Mr. Philip's
Gladstone from the attic."

She would not allow herself to be frightened by the
unknown. Indeed she knew a little now. The man was not an
Italian noble, otherwise the telegram would have said so.
It must have been written by Lilia. None but she would have
been guilty of the fatuous vulgarity of "Italian nobility."
She recalled phrases of this morning's letter: "We love this
place--Caroline is sweeter than ever, and busy
sketching--Italians full of simplicity and charm." And the
remark of Baedeker, "The inhabitants are still noted for
their agreeable manners," had a baleful meaning now. If
Mrs. Herriton had no imagination, she had intuition, a more
useful quality, and the picture she made to herself of
Lilia's fiance did not prove altogether wrong.

So Philip was received with the news that he must start
in half an hour for Monteriano. He was in a painful
position. For three years he had sung the praises of the
Italians, but he had never contemplated having one as a
relative. He tried to soften the thing down to his mother,
but in his heart of hearts he agreed with her when she said,
"The man may be a duke or he may be an organ-grinder. That
is not the point. If Lilia marries him she insults the
memory of Charles, she insults Irma, she insults us.
Therefore I forbid her, and if she disobeys we have done
with her for ever."

"I will do all I can," said Philip in a low voice. It
was the first time he had had anything to do. He kissed his
mother and sister and puzzled Irma. The hall was warm and
attractive as he looked back into it from the cold March
night, and he departed for Italy reluctantly, as for
something commonplace and dull.

Before Mrs. Herriton went to bed she wrote to Mrs.
Theobald, using plain language about Lilia's conduct, and
hinting that it was a question on which every one must
definitely choose sides. She added, as if it was an
afterthought, that Mrs. Theobald's letter had arrived that
morning.

Just as she was going upstairs she remembered that she
never covered up those peas. It upset her more than
anything, and again and again she struck the banisters with
vexation. Late as it was, she got a lantern from the
tool-shed and went down the garden to rake the earth over
them. The sparrows had taken every one. But countless
fragments of the letter remained, disfiguring the tidy
ground.